


that was the plan

by emmaofmisthaven



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 03:53:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaofmisthaven/pseuds/emmaofmisthaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All she wants is for things to go back to normal – or whatever normal is to their standards. But there’s a shuffling in the corner of her eye, something suddenly catching her interest.<br/>When she turns her head, her heart stops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that was the plan

**Author's Note:**

> cause posting fluffy lil fics on Christmas day is too mainstream

“There’s something we need to tell you,” Snow starts, with a nervous glance at Charming next to her, “about the curse.”

Emma only wants to sigh then, because Hook filled her in as much as possible on their way to the Enchanted Forest, and more details would only make her brain burst with too much information. But there is a seriousness in her mother’s eyes that stops her from going for a sassy reply, and she glances at Hook if only to find some comfort in his eyes. He only nods, once, stiffly, and averts his eyes.

“See, when it was cast, it was like… like a giant reset button.”

“Everything went back to the way it was before we were all sent to Storybrooke,” David adds, hoping to be helpful in whatever they’re cryptically trying to tell. But nothing makes sense, the information only buzzing to Emma’s ears, and all she wants is to find the Witch and be done with it. All she wants is for things to go back to normal – or whatever normal is to their standards. But there’s a shuffling in the corner of her eye, something suddenly catching her interest.

When she turns her head, her heart stops.

“No…” is all she manages to say, barely more than a whisper.

She takes a step back, hand reaching for Hook’s behind her, as if it could help, as if to make sure she isn’t dreaming. But her hand only find emptiness, and she bites on her tongue – it hurts, but doesn’t change anything.

He’s still here, in front of her, all soft eyes and curly hair, a small smile tugging at his lips in the most adorable pout he’s ever offered her. A furry cape replaces his jacket, but the leather remains – men and their leather, seriously. She half-registers that he looks exactly like the illustration from Henry’s book, which kind of makes sense, really.

She doesn’t realise her feet are moving on their own accord until she’s standing in front of him, close, too close, and her heart misses a beat every so often because it’s _him_ and he’s _alive_ and it can’t be _true_. But yet…

“Hi,” he says, smile growing bigger, and she can hear all the intensity of his accent in that single sound – richer and more profound than Hook’s, like finally coming home.

“Hi,” she replies, eyes tearing up and limbs shaking. And then she’s hugging him, arms tightly wrapped around his neck, with the firm idea of never letting go. She can’t, or he will drift away again, and her heart won’t survive this time – won’t survive losing him twice.

She breathes him in, and he smells like the forest and the rain, wild and untamed like those wolves of his. She missed his smell, and his voice, and his mere presence – she missed him, the shoelace around her wrist a bit heavier with each passing day.

Still, her mother’s words keep taunting her, and Emma takes a step back, if only to press her hand against his chest. Nothing. Not a single beat, just his warmth against her palm.

“Your heart,” she says, uselessly. “Regina didn’t give it back.”

“No. She says there’s no point because…”

It all makes sense even before he ends the sentence, and she shakes her head in immediate denial. No, no way. _Not twice_. She turns around, hand not leaving his chest in the process, to look at the others.

There’s pity in her parents’ eyes, because they know too. There’s sadness in Hook’s, sadness for _her_ – she basically threw herself at another men mere days after he tried a True Love’s kiss on her and yet the man feels sorry for her and not for himself, how fair is that exactly?

It isn’t.

Nothing is fair.

“No.” She pours all her stubbornness into the word, daring her parents to contradict her. “We’re going to break the curse and defeat the Witch, and that’s all. You.” She turns back to Graham, with a resolute frown. “You are going to stay alive, and we are going to give you back your heart and everything is going to be _fine_.”

She gives him a nod. Yes. That’s the plan, and she’s going to stick to it.

 

.

 

The plan fails.

Nobody is surprised about it, she can read it behind the sadness on their faces, but they’re all too kind to point it out. She’s left a crying mess in Hook’s arms – she wouldn’t let anyone but him touch her, only allowing him to cradle her against his chest and to murmur sweet nothings to her ear. At first, she tries to let the accent trick her into believing it’s another man comforting her, but the voice isn’t quite right, and neither is his missing hand against her back. She cries ever more then, sobbing in his neck.

All she can think is _this isn’t fair_ because of all the people she met in Storybrooke, he was the sweetest and the kindness and this isn’t fair. She wouldn’t wish anybody to die, but she’s seriously trade (almost) anyone to have him alive again. The selfish thought burns her brain, leaving her dizzy – or maybe it’s the tears, she doesn’t know anymore.

“Shh, love, that’s all right, it’s going to be all right.”

He rocks her gentling against him, good hand caressing her hair in soothing motions – she feels all the more selfish about it because Killian Jones is a good man, and a selfless one at that, and here he is, comforting her for the death of another lover.

“Just let the tears flow. You’ll feel better once you’re done.”

She grips the collar of his shirt, nuzzle deeper against his skin, and let him lull her with a song – something unfamiliar, but soft and beautiful, his voice like a caress, effectively calming her after a while. She cries herself to sleep, quite literally, exhausted after hours of sobbing, and she almost passes out against his neck.

She wakes up still in his arms, his hand cradling her head as she uses his chest as a pillow. She blinks at him, chasing sleep and tears away from her eyes, and he smiles down at her.

“Why are you doing all that?” Her voice is weak and hoarse, and she already knows his answer, but needs to hear it anywhere.

“Because I know what it’s like losing someone you love.” He kisses the top of her head. “Because I don’t want you to be alone in your mourning. You should never be alone.”

_Because love is selfless_ are the words he doesn’t say. He doesn’t need to anyway. So she only whispers a thank you and settles back against his chest, gripping his shirt with weak fingers. Because there’s no witch to fight and no responsibilities to deal with, and she just allows herself to be selfish, if only for one day.


End file.
